


The Third Bar

by valis2



Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 12:51:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valis2/pseuds/valis2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though Cody's been back from 'Nam for over a month, Nick can't find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Bar

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet was inspired primarily by repeated listens to [Snow Patrol's "Set the Fire to the Third Bar"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cnmuJ9LczV4) ([lyrics](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/snowpatrol/setthefiretothethirdbar.html). Thanks to Der Tanzer for help with a couple technical details.

* * *

_I'm miles from where you are,_  
 _I lay down on the cold ground_  
 _And I, I pray that something picks me up_  
 _and sets me down in your warm arms_

_-Snow Patrol, "Set the Fire to the Third Bar"_

The phone rings, and Nick's heart leaps, as it always does, but it's just Chase reminding him about going out tonight. Nick says the right things in the right places, winding the cord around his fingers. Chase tells him who's coming, and Cody's name is not among them. 

His heart aches.

Hanging up, he disentangles his hand. The apartment is as shabby as it has ever been, dark and ugly, old shades from the previous tenant stained with smoke, the couch arms studded with black burn marks. 

He wants to go out but it's too early. Better not to spend the afternoon outside; he can't stop looking, hoping to see the familiar glint of blond hair, a pair of warm blue eyes. It always gives him a headache.

Instead he sits down on the couch and opens a fresh can of beer. He has the day off, thanks to flying the last six days out of seven for urgent cargo hauling jobs. If he could sleep, he would have right then and there, but it's daylight and that makes it even more difficult. Bad enough he tosses and turns all night long, heavy dreams full of blood, smoke, the harsh chemical tang of insecticide. Falling out of the sky.

The beer does not get rid of any of it, but it pushes it farther away from him, lets him relax a little. He's on his third one before he thinks he might need to slow down. He can hear the relentless noise of traffic outside, the freeway humming and vibrating, while inside his apartment it is perfectly still, except for his heart, expanding and contracting, ruining the calm. He remembers last week, remembers going out back, stuffing his journals inside the old charcoal grill. The smell of lighter fluid. He'd been drunk, but the act was cold sober, the destruction of all of his words, a last attempt to wipe it away, burn out the feelings until nothing remained.

That night he'd dreamt the jungle was on fire, Cody caught in the flames somewhere, and he circled again and again, unable to find him, the chopper choking on the last fumes and plunging down into the blazing heat. He'd woken up, soaked in sweat, screaming.

He opens a fourth beer.

The phone does not ring, no matter how much he wants it to.

* * *

The bar is nearly empty. It's only eight o'clock, after all. Nick shows up and Chase is the only one there, grinning, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Hugs, thump on the back, and then they sit at the long stretch of bar. Nick orders another beer. It's early, yet.

"You start the party without us?" asks Chase, grinning.

"Yeah," says Nick. "Day off."

"Nice." Chase takes a long drag off his cigarette. "Stewart isn't coming, called me just before I left."

"Stewy? That's too bad." Made sense, though. He'd been home for a year already, had a wife and kid. Better things to do than drown his troubles at the bar.

All Nick has is a couch and a fridge full of beer. He tries to shake off the thought.

"Hey, Joe!" Chase waves at a guy coming in through the door. "Over here!"

It takes a full minute for it to penetrate Nick's brain. Joe Smith, the M-60 hauler from their platoon. _Fuck._ Joe is probably the last guy he wants to see tonight. Ever.

He nods in Joe's direction as Joe sits down on the other side of Chase and orders an Old Fashioned. Chase and Joe start talking about Joe's new car repair place while Nick stares into his beer.

His heart actually hurts. It's a dull pain, growing every moment. 

_Where is Cody?_

Nick's tour started two months before Cody's, and therefore ended two months before. 

Leaving him was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. He almost signed up for a third tour but once Cody heard that idea he made him swear not to. And he hadn't. He'd left 'Nam, came home, and fell into cargo work.

His aunt and uncle were happy to see him. He didn't bother seeking out his high school friends; it just seemed like a different life. His aunt helped him find an apartment.

All the while he wrote to Cody. Poured everything into every word, making each letter an oath of love, a promise of comfort, hoping each one bore his feelings to Cody, kept him safe, kept him sane.

There had only been one reply. Every word is seared into his brain. 

_Nick,_

_Thanks for writing. I'm fine. I'm counting down the days._

_Cody_

Nick is counting days, too. Thirty-two since Cody should have come home.

"Where's your other half?" asks Joe, leaning past Chase. His grin is nasty. Knowing.

"No idea," says Nick, pounding the rest of his beer.

"You guys were attached at the...hip." Joe's expression turns sly.

"Yeah, well, things change." Nick turns to look at him, challenging.

As expected, they stare at each other for a moment, and then Joe backs down. In 'Nam they'd gotten into a couple fistfights and were pretty evenly matched, despite Joe's height and added bulk, but tonight would be a bad idea. For Joe.

Louie and Jimbo show up with a guy Nick barely knows, Henry or Harry, can't remember, and they all move to a table. There's talk of who's home, who's still in-country, who's dead. A toast to Lenny, of course, with Henry or Harry looking confused. Louie buys a round, then Chase, and Nick tries to laugh at the right moments, tries to seem fine. Natural. Relaxed.

Doc Harris shows, of course, and they all welcome him with whoops of delight and order a round in his honor. The other patrons of the bar look disconcerted. Doc tells a story about tinned peaches that they've all heard before but the repetition is comforting. 

Knowing the ending is comforting. 

Jimbo suggests changing bars, and they're all amenable, so they get up and leave a few bills for the waitress.

The second bar is alive, aglow with neon. Pool tables. Jimbo and Louie immediately challenge each other to a match, and Henry whose name is Henry watches with interest. Doc Harris advises Joe on how to file business taxes.

Chase tells Nick about the girl he's dating, about her soft skin and hair which smells like roses. About her sweet personality and how her parents absolutely hate him. Nick listens. Nods. Makes noises of sympathy.

Nick is not with Cody.

Nick is alone.

He feels his heart, feels the ache resonate in his chest.

Henry wanders back to the table, sits down next to Chase, talks about the girl he's trying to ask out, gorgeous, a model, likes to ski. Nick senses that she is a picture from a magazine and that Henry does not know her in real life.

"One of these days I'm just going to ask her out," announces Henry, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "She's _beautiful_ , man, just beautiful. An' you know what Cody says--"

It's like someone has actually twanged a guitar string that turns out to be his whole body. He's suddenly entirely, completely alert, his every nerve taut. "Cody?" Even saying the name hurts.

"Yeah, when we was in-country he tol' me you should always take a chance on love." Henry looks happy, his fingers drumming on the table in a loose rhythm.

"Oh." Nick finishes his beer and tries to appear nonchalant but his body thrums with nervous energy.

"He's home now, workin' as a lifeguard, can you b'lieve it?" adds Henry, scratching his jawline. "Got some goofy roommate, weird name, they're all over th' beach. Hermosa Beach, I think."

Home.

Lifeguard.

Roommate.

The words hit Nick's ears like shrapnel. 

He's holding the glass so tightly it's a miracle it doesn't shatter.

"Tol' me he had a hot blond--"

Nick flags the waitress and orders a gin and tonic. Joe gives him a knowing look. Smug.

Nick wants to remove the look in the most violent way possible.

The gin and tonic is followed by another, and the liquor rushes inside of him, his heart a boiling mass, his head a whirlwind of hurt and longing and bewilderment.

Cody is home. Cody is safe. That is a relief, a crushing lead weight removed.

But Cody isn't with him.

He remembers the letter, the brusque tone. Cody was counting down the days, but not to Nick, not to them. To a blond on the beach.

He steals Chase's cigarette, finishes it, hoping it will help, but there isn't any peace. There is nothing but a horrible humming in his head. For the first time Nick doesn't know if he wants to see Cody again.

That hurts so much that he nearly starts sobbing. It's only Joe's close proximity that keeps him from it. 

He is physically closer to Cody than he has been in months, but farther away than he's ever been.

Voices and the sound of pool and laughter swirl around him. He is untouched, except for the unending rhythm of the gin and tonic, burning away at the thing in his chest which is no longer his heart.

The emptiness inside him is shocking. It feels like there is nothing that can ever fill it again. He can barely remember how to breathe.

A hand on his shoulder. He doesn't flinch. It can't be Cody; it will never be Cody. It's Chase. Everyone's left but him, and he's heading out, too, and does Nick need a ride?

No. Nick shakes his head and watches him leave.

This place is still too loud and alive.

He finds a third bar.

It's a real hole in the wall. The jukebox is dark. Men smoke at the bar. Eyes watch him as he sits down on an open stool and orders a gin and tonic. The guy next to him glares at him.

The dim light is perfect. He thinks grim thoughts. He remembers his journals, remembers trying to crush those feelings. It hadn't worked then, but now it's a different story. He feels it, the pain, the agony of not knowing, the new taste of betrayal in the back of his throat. He thinks of setting fire to the bar, last site of the last hope, but that's a fool's thought.

Not that he has been anything but a fool lately.

The pain is leaving, the emptiness expanding, until there is nothing but a hollow within. He is not alive here at this bar. He is a ghost, like Lenny, walking among the living, he is haunting those who still bear hearts. His head is spinning but he is calm within it, untouched by it, his mind still locked in thoughts of Cody. Safe. Alive.

Not with him.

He thinks about driving to Hermosa Beach, but he can't even remember where his car is. It's far too late; it would be empty. He tries not to think of Cody in the sun, in the sand, the heat on his golden skin.

The numbness has settled into every pore. He feels nothing; even the burn of the gin has faded to nothing. Last call, and he gets down from his stool, a little unsteady, and accidentally jostles the guy next to him.

"Watch out!" he says angrily, his face unpleasant. His drink splashes all over his sleeve.

"I barely touched you, man," says Nick. "Jus' let it go." He's slurring more than he wants to.

" _You_ better let it go." The guy shoves him, just a little.

"You don't want--"

"Take it outside, Leon!" says the bartender.

The possibility of a fight blossoms inside of him, and the guy--Leon--follows him outside, shoves him hard to the sidewalk. Nick gets up, a little shaky, and takes a swing, which misses. He hears the bar door open and close behind him.

Leon punches him hard, high on his cheekbone. Pain--real, physical pain--explodes in his head, waking him up, focusing him. He reels back a step, and then back forward again, ducking Leon's next swing and hitting him hard in the gut. Leon's breath explodes out of his mouth and he goes down.

Nick pants, the side of his head throbbing, and suddenly pain explodes across his shoulders. He goes down, realizes that someone is swinging a two-by-four, and kicks out blindly, trying to roll to avoid the next blow. Leon kicks him high in the ribcage, and the guy with the two-by-four hits his knee, making him cry out. He grabs Leon's ankle, pulls hard, taking him down, and the two-by-four catches him fully on the ribs. He rolls into a ball, trying to protect himself from the blows. 

He's outnumbered, and they beat him until he stops moving, and then one of them takes his wallet and the other drags him into the alley. They leave and everything goes quiet.

He is lying on the ground, the cold pavement underneath him. 

Alone. He is alone. Cody is close but far away, gone. They will never be together again. Cody does not want him back.

He tries to think of everything, Cody on the beach, Cody with a hot blond, Cody in bed with the hot blond. It doesn't matter. 

No matter how he tries to burn it away, Cody is still there. He still wants Cody, wants the bright burn of his love, wants everything about him. His heart is the traitor. It will not let go. He cannot give up. He rolls on his back, looks at the stars, remote and unfeeling, while the rage and fire of his love fills his heart. 

There is still hope; there is always hope. Even if it takes years. Even if it takes everything he has, everything he will be. Cody is hurting, he's shut himself off, but Nick can't abandon that tiny shred of faith in him. Cody took a chance on love, as did Nick, and it could not be utterly gone. There had to be a spark left somewhere.

Eventually he gets up, limps home. His apartment is dark and cold. He gets in bed. Doesn't bother with a blanket.

Dreams of Cody. Dreams of his warm arms.


End file.
